


Bake'n Bits

by ghostwriterly



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Baker Bitty, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Police Officer Jack, Romance, zimbits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-23 09:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11399646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriterly/pseuds/ghostwriterly
Summary: In which Bitty has a crush on the beat cop on his block, and Jack Zimmermann really knows how to fill out a police uniform.





	1. Chapter 1

 

“Wow Bits, I’m shocked and astounded to find you here, mooning over hot cop. Again.” Lardo slapped a covered takeout mug of cappuccino and a white paper sack on the counter. “You’re welcome _._ ”

Bitty frowned at the bag. “What’s this?”

Lardo pushed him toward the door. “A date.”

Bitty skirted the corner of the counter and shook his head. “Oh no. Oh no no no.”

“Eric Richard Bittle.” Lardo’s face was rapidly turning an alarming shade of pink. She thrust a finger toward the road. “You rearranged your baking schedule, and changed the start times of your lunch special, all to make sure that every single day you are standing right here—” She slapped the counter with her palm.  “When Mr. Universe climbs his tight ass out of that black and white to take a beat walk around the block.”

“I don’t rearrange my baking schedule,” Bitty mumbled, scuffing the floor with one toe.

“Yes you do!” Lardo shouted.

Bitty’s eyes widened; he had never heard Lardo raise her voice outside of a hockey game. Best friends since college, he had been more than grateful for her support (and cheap labor) when he decided to open Bake’n Bits (half bakery, half whatever he felt like cooking for lunch that day) after graduation. It had been a risk—his savings was meager and Providence didn’t have the familiarity of either home (Georgia) _or_ Samwell University, their alma mater. But it did have the most perfect downtown location: a recently vacated coffee shop with a bonus apartment upstairs. The shop was settled between a quirky used book store with a mustachioed proprietor, and a busy hair and nail salon, and it had honestly been love at first sight. Bitty had stood on the cobbled stone sidewalk, directly under the painted swinging sign, and imagined all the beautiful pastries and pies he could arrange in the display window.  

It had taken two small loans (one from his parents and one from his Moomaw), and a huge leap of faith, but in just six months, Bake’n Bits was already in the black. It helped that Lardo had followed Bitty to Providence, willing to work for less than she was worth—let’s be honest—in exchange for a couch to sleep on and plenty of time to curate her portfolio. That decision, too, had been ultimately auspicious, because the art of Larissa ‘Lardo’ Duan would soon be featured in its very first show.

They were living the dream.

Except for the part where Bitty had no social life, he had to soak his feet every night like an 80 year old man, and the last time he had sex (with another person), he was wearing a college logo tank top unironically.

He grabbed the coffee cup and the sack and turned to face the street. He inhaled through his nose and then straightened his shoulders and marched to the door.

“Calm down, you’re not headed off to war,” Lardo snickered, as he threw himself into the sunlight.

Bitty held up a middle finger over his shoulder, blinking against the brightness of the late summer afternoon. As if on queue, Hot Cop was just passing the salon, and would be on him _(ha, in his dreams_ ) in five, four, three, two—

“Hi.” Bitty thrust his armful of baked goods and caffeine toward the tall— _very tall, holy Jesus—_ stranger.  

The officer blinked, his blue eyes clear and ultra bright in his handsome face. _Zimmermann,_ his nametag read. When he remained frozen there, staring down at him, Bitty blanched and tried again. Mostly because Lardo was probably recording the entire exchange on her phone for blackmail purposes. “I, um,” he jerked his head toward the bakery door. “I see you, every day, and I thought…” He shrugged, trailing off on a defeated sigh. _Who am I fooling?_ “Fresh baked. On the house.” He shoved the bag and the cup in Officer Zimmermann’s wide, toned— _uniformed—_ chest and fled.

...

He had been in the walk-in cooler for five solid minutes when Lardo opened the door and leaned against the jamb.

“So. You coming out any time soon?”

“No.” Bitty scowled at the clipboard in his hand. “I’m taking inventory.”

“I see that.” Lardo picked at a splotch of paint on her index finger. “So is it important? This inventory?”

“Yes.” Bitty had just aligned every box on the shelf in front of him and he ran his finger across their symmetrical faces with a happy sigh.

“More important than a smoking hot police officer who might, at this very moment, be sitting at our counter, about to bust out of his very tight poly blend snap front, asking about bear claws?”

“What!?” Bitty almost dropped the clipboard.

Lardo shrugged. “Because I can tell him to leave. We don’t need the cops to start freeloading, hanging around, drinking our coffee, expecting food for— _mmph._ ”

Bitty squished her cheeks between his hands. “I will run all of your paintbrushes through the garbage disposal _Larissa,_ if you are even one half ounce shitting me.”

Lardo squirmed out of his grasp. “You touch my brushes, _Richard,_ you die.” She sniffed. “He’s there. Needs a refill.” She very pointedly walked to the door that led to their apartment. “I’m going on a very long break.”

Bitty threw the clipboard on a shelf in the cooler and slammed the door. “Breathe,” he whispered, slapping his cheeks a few times for good measure. “You can do this, Bittle. He’s just a man.” He faltered halfway across the floor. “A blazing hot, beautiful man. With man parts. And shoulders. And ass. _Mother of God._ ” He covered his eyes for a beat before checking his hair in the polished steel bowl of his stand mixer and striding out to meet his customer.

Officer Zimmerman was no longer sitting at the counter, his pretty, pretty figure filling the far left corner between a café table and a booth. He was reading a framed newspaper story about the Samwell Men’s Hockey team, and their bid for a national championship, Bitty’s blurry face in the accompanying photo clearly recognizable.

Bitty cleared his throat. “Seems like a long time ago.” He smiled at the officer’s startled glance.

“You played?”

Bitty hid his smile at the surprised tone; story of his life. “Yeah. Four years.” He nodded at the photo. “We only made it to the finals once, but man what a memory.”

“I’ll bet.” Officer Zimmermann shifted his weight and clasped his hands in front of him, endearingly awkward. Bitty might as well have been a puddle at his feet. 

“So, bear claws, huh?” Bitty grabbed the nearest coffee pot and filled a fresh mug, sliding it into place beside the cardboard travel cup at the counter. He winked and slipped on a pair of clear gloves. “I’m fresh out of those today, but I think I have something you might like.” He reached into the baked goods case and chose an apple fritter, it’s buttery, flaky crust the picture of perfection. He plated it on a white saucer and presented it with a flourish. “Hope you like apple.”

Officer Zimmermann slid onto a stool with the tiniest hint of a smile. “I do.”

Bitty tried not to clutch his chest when he took the first bite, the tip of his tongue flicking out to catch a stray crumb. (Bitty would _so_ do that for him _,_ if he just asked.) He grinned at the enthusiastic moan, glad the counter was between them so he could surreptitiously rearrange himself in his shorts. He was having a dry spell, okay? Handsome men moaning, with tongue, were Just. Not. Fair. “Good?”

Officer Zimmermann held up one finger while he took another bite, his second groan even more suggestive than the first. “This is _amazing._ ”

When he thoroughly licked his fingers, Bitty nearly came on the spot. He fanned himself and spoke before he thought. “My goodness, Officer Zimmermann. You _do_ know how to eat a fritter.”

There was a beat of silence, and then the officer snorted, a bright pink flush traveling across his cheeks and down the open vee of his shirt. “Well, it’s good. Damn near—” Those blue eyes were twinkling mischievously when they met Bitty’s. “Orgasmic.”

Bitty was going to marry this man. He thrust one hand over the counter. “Eric Bittle. Orgasmic baker.” He bit his lip. “And part-time short order cook.”

Officer Zimmermann took his hand and held it, his palm warm and slightly damp. “Jack Zimmermann.” His slow onceover down Bitty’s aproned form was borderline illegal. “Providence police officer and…” He grinned and Bitty nearly passed out. “Passionate eater.”

“I’ll say,” Bitty muttered. The tips of his fucking _ears_ were burning. He tugged his hand free, wiping it on his apron as he turned. “You eat things that aren’t dessert, Officer Zimmermann?” He busied himself pouring his own cup of coffee. The shop was empty. He could take a break.

“Jack.” He was all but pouting when Bitty turned around, and he had to slap a palm on the countertop to circumnavigate a swoon.

“Jack.” Bitty rolled the word around his tongue; it felt good. Right. “Jack, I’m going to cook dinner for you tonight.” He leaned over the counter on his elbows, idly stirring a three packets of sugar into his coffee cup. “What’s your pleasure?”

Jack’s warm gaze never left his face. “Surprise me.”

_Naked sushi might be too much for a first date,_ Bitty thought a little desperately. “I hope you like Japanese,” he said with a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

“Holy shit,” Lardo whispered. She squeezed her eyes closed and then opened them again; nope. There was still a half naked Bitty and a fully naked police officer asleep in the middle of a makeshift living room fort, the latter’s _extremely_ impressive butt topside. He had a strong-looking forearm slung low across Bitty’s ribcage, the picture of possessive sweetness.

A collection of serving trays and platters littered every flat surface in the room, some with goods barely touched and others cleaned of whatever delicacy they had once bestowed.

Her smile grew. _“Get it, Bittle,_ ” she whispered, and then tiptoed right on back out the front door.

…

“Bitty _, c’mon_ ,” Lardo whined, feet hitting the bottom cabinet doors as she swung her legs. “Just one little detail. Any detail!” She gave him her most innocent smile. “You pick.”

“No! And get off the counter. Jesus.” Bitty swatted her with a tea towel.

Lardo ignored him. “Did you let him come in your mouth?”

“Larissa Patrice Duan!”

“Okay, okay.” Lardo held up her hands in self defense. She snagged one of the mini-blueberry muffins Bitty was arranging on a tray and popped it in her mouth. Before she had even swallowed she asked, “Did you do it in the kitchen too? Because I hope you wiped down the counters, I made a smoothie in there this morning.”

“Out.” Bitty pointed at door.

Lardo hopped off the counter with a grin. “Fine.” She sashayed through the door and into the shop, only to pop up in the ordering window a few seconds later. “Maybe you should stay behind the scenes this morning,” she stage whispered, looking pointedly at his crotch. “You’re moving a little slow.”

“I hate you.” Bitty refrained from tossing the nearest kitchen utensil at her, but just barely. Here he had had the most spectacular sex _of life_ , with a man who not only appreciated his cooking—in the most seductive way on the planet—but looked like a living, breathing, Greek god and had zero self-consciousness about nudity. ( _Bless him, seriously.)_ And all Bitty wanted to do for the next forty-two years was think about all that amazing sex he had just had—and all the additional times he was planning to have it with one Jack Zimmermann.

But nooo. Lardo had to come into his kitchen, and stick her nosy nose in his business— _details, really--_ well nosiree, not on this day. Nope. _She_ could keep on living her couthless existence, spilling the tea on Mr. Knight the bookseller’s various endowments, but as far as Bitty was concerned, _he_ would be remaining mum on Officer Zimmermann’s many— _many—_ talents.

Mum.

Bitty opened the oven and took out the next batch. _But,_ he smiled, as he turned toward the counter _. Lord almighty,_ could he say a thing or ten about the endurance of man.

Why, yes he could.

But he wouldn’t.

Because _he_ was a gentleman.

“Your sex toy’s here,” Lardo whispered through the window.

Bitty dropped the entire pan of muffins.

…

Jack’s eyebrows were drawn together in a frown and Lardo laughed. “What?”

“So, are the nicknames, um, a Samwell University thing, or a you and Bitty thing?”

He stumbled a little over the _Bitty_ and Lardo had to hide her smile. God _damn_ he was cute, and literally fuck if she had ever met anyone more perfect for Eric R. Bittle.

“They’re a hockey thing. I managed the team. That’s how Bits and I met.”

Jack stirred a single packet of raw sugar into his cup of Earl Grey; it turned out he preferred tea to coffee (which would explain the sudden appearance of several varieties near the coffee tins this morning). “Like bonding.”

Lardo snorted. “Yeah, although they weren’t always, you know, derogatory?”

“Huh?” Jack looked genuinely confused.

She ran a hand down her body when he continued to stare at her, expression blank. “Lardo?”

“Oh.” Jack shrugged. “I thought they meant… the opposite. Like irony.”

“Irony?” Lardo frowned. “But Bitty really _is…_ ” She trailed off and glanced toward the kitchen, eyes wide. “Oooh.”

Jack sipped his tea.

…

“Muffins are glazed, dough is rising, and _I,_ ” Bitty grinned. “Am ready for a break.”  He swung onto the stool next to Jack. “Sorry it took me so long.”

Jack’s smile was gentle and swoonworthy. “It’s all right.” He pushed his cup toward the center of the counter and stood. “I really do have to get going though, I’m afraid.”

“No!” Bitty pouted. “I just got here.”

“The protection of this fair city won’t wait.” Jack reached down to brush a smattering of flour from Bitty’s cheek. “Besides. You’ll see me later.”

“I will?” Bitty wondered if it was against police officer protocol to neck with the local baker between the hours of two and four.

“You will.” Jack glanced quickly around and then leaned into him for a kiss.

Bitty did swoon then, clutching at his leather belt with both hands. “Mmm, I’d make a joke about your gun but my brain just melted.”

Jack grinned and backed away. “I’ll call you later?”

Bitty gathered enough wits to nod. “You’ll call me later.” He watched as Jack stopped to hold open the door for a customer, and then crouched  on the sidewalk to pet a passing Labrador retriever.

“He’s like a big, gorgeous, Rockwell painting come to life,” Lardo muttered.

“For real,” Bitty sighed.

Lardo tucked her fist under her chin. “I mean—those biceps.”

“Right? Lord, when he picked me up and slam—” Bitty froze. “Nevermind.”

“ _Bitty_ ,” Lardo whined, swatting at him from behind the counter.

“No deets, Duan.” He sauntered through the open kitchen door and Lardo threw up her hands.

“Come on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //Patrice// I'm taking all kind of liberties ok? Also this was not supposed to be a chaptered fic. Lord help me (and Bitty too).  
> ps. Lardo is all of you, asking for dirty deets.


End file.
